


i hear it in my sleep

by imaginarypasta



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21545626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarypasta/pseuds/imaginarypasta
Summary: Jazz finds Danny injured and stitches him up.
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 102





	i hear it in my sleep

Jazz's eyes snapped open when she heard the soft sobs coming from down the hall. Her feet were cold on the hardwood floor as she stepped off her teal rug and into the hallway; she pushed herself up so she walked on her toes, trying to let as little of the nighttime chill as possible touch her skin. Despite the frost gathering on the windows as Amity settled into winter, the hall was stuffy, filled with an oppressive air that sent a feeling of discomfort into her chest. Something inside her told her to go back to bed, but her mind was made up. She had to find the source of the crying.

The door was open just a crack, a thin sheet of yellow light escaping the confines of the tiny room; without thinking too hard about it, she pushed it open the rest of the way. Her eyes were squeezed shut with a yawn, but as she moved her hand back from her mouth and opened them, she found Danny, hair white but matted with green bits, hazmat suit hanging loose around his waist, twisted around himself and trying to clean a wound. Her breath hitched in her throat, and the small gasp is what alerted Danny to her presence. She saw him flicker invisible for a moment, but returned as quickly as he’d left. He tried to stifle a small groan.

“Danny…” she whispered. He straightened up his body, back away from her and eyes trained on the ground. She didn’t need to see the bright green ectoplasm staining the shower wall to know he was hurt, his tense position made her worry all the more. “What happened?” She wasn’t surprised to see the silver tears trailing down his face, his aura dimmed enough she could actually see her brother in the ghost’s face.

He shrugged, though the movement made him wince. “A ghost. What else?” His voice was hoarse, she noticed. She closed the door as quietly as she could, the little click making them both jump.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, placing the toilet seat down to sit on. He inched further away on the side of the tub.

“It’s fine, I’ll do it myself,” he returned.

“No way, little brother, you need help.” She gently pressed her hand onto his shoulder to prompt him to turn, but he jerked back at the movement, and her hand returned with fingers covered in green goo. It burned cold, and even the brief contact would leave it red and blistering tomorrow. She quickly grabbed a towel hanging on the wall and wiped off her hands.

“Please, just go back to bed,” he said, sounding defeated.

“And then what? Let you deal with this yourself?” She blew a breath out of her nose indignantly. “I’m already awake.” He sighed, and she decided this was permission to continue. “Now, turn around.”

He obeyed begrudgingly — no, that was wrong, it was _hurting_ him just to turn around. He didn’t float, she realized, but instead pressed his arms onto the side of the tub and hoisted his legs over it, revealing a back littered with deep gashes seeping out viscous green liquid. For the second time tonight, her breathing stopped.

“ _Shit_ , Danny, what happened?” She saw him prickle at the curse, something she tried to avoid doing around him as often as she could. She didn’t want to set a bad example — not that it was helping much, she’d heard him and his friends talk. He didn’t offer any information as she wet a fresh towel and began wiping the ectoplasm off his back.

It took three towels, now stained with a darkening green color and tossed haphazardly upon the ground, to clean off most of it. She’d moved onto antiseptic, the light pressure making him wince every few moments.

“You almost done?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“With this part,” she explained. “But I think some of these need stitches.”

He sighed. “I got it.”

Jazz’s face morphed into a frown before she could even process his words. “Absolutely not. I didn’t listen to Dad’s emergency first aid lecture for nothing.” Her voice got a bit louder as she teased their father; Danny cracked a smile as he shushed her.

“There’s a sewing kit in the medicine cabinet.”

Jazz’s hand hovered over the next cut; it was a moment too long, and Danny had tried to turn to see her face, only to snap back in pain. She quickly pressed the cloth to his back. “I have suture needles and surgical thread.” Her voice was low, lower than the whisper she’d been using up until this point. “I didn’t realize this was so…” she paused as the words caught in her throat. “…common.”

She reached for the makeup caddy that always sat under the sink, the one she hadn’t used since she was in middle school. When she’d learned about Danny, she’d filled it with first aid supplies, not quite sure how to ask him if he actually needed them.

They were silent as she stitched up the wounds, inexperienced hands hardly getting four stitches to the inch. And there were so many lacerations across his back, it made her head reel; eventually, she lost count.

“I’m done,” she said, and Danny turned around. The air around him glowed white for a moment as he returned to the clothes he’d been wearing that afternoon. Neither of them spoke for a moment. “Wake me up next time this happens, okay? I don’t want you trying to do this on your own.”

“But then you’ll never get any sleep.” Jazz’s eyes watered at that; she wondered if he knew how that sounded. “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I’m just joking, it really doesn’t happen that often.”

“How often, then?” she demanded. “How often does it happen?”

He hung his head. “Once a week or so,” he admitted. “Usually more.” Jazz drummed her fingers on the toilet bowl beside her, teal nails clacking atop the porcelain.

“Well, then I’ll just have to sleep in on those days, then,” she decided. Then she eyed the ragged clothes hanging loosely on his scrawny body. “Speaking of, you’d better get to bed. Put your shirt in the wash right away, it’s got ectoplasm on it.”

“T-thanks, Jazz,” he said.

She shrugged, “No problem, Danny.” With that, he was gone. She could hear his footsteps in the hall; the disappearing act was just for show, to prove he wasn't too hurt, she decided. Her eyes flicked to the ivory porcelain shower, electric green pooling upon its floor, and her hands moved to the bucket of cleaning supplies under the sink.


End file.
